  [To M. M. S.] O may these days of pain, These wasted-seeming days, Somewhere reflower again With scent and savour of praise. Draw out of memory all bitterness Of night with Thy sun’s rays. And strengthen Thou in me The love of men here found, And eager charity, That, out of difficult ground, Spring like flowers in barren deserts, or Like light, or a lovely sound. A simpler heart than mine Might have seen beauty clear Where I could see no sign Of Thee, but only fear. Strengthen me, make me to see Thy beauty always In every happening here. In Trenches, March 1917. |
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